Page 49 of Mercy of the Mafia Doctor
The trauma of the past twenty years roars to the surface. I see my mother’s face the last time I saw her alive. I see the emptiness of the life that followed. I’m not the keeper of secrets. I’m just a man terrified of being alone again.
"Look at me," I demand, my voice breaking.
She looks. She sees the fear and the feral need.
"I'm here," she says softly. She cups my face, her palms warm against my stubble. "I'm right here, Alessio."
The touch is a spark in a powder keg.
I don't kiss her. I devour her.
My mouth crashes against hers, hard and desperate. I taste the salt of her skin and the lingering metallic tang of the adrenaline. I groan into her mouth, a sound of pure hunger. I need to be inside her. I need to feel her heart beating against mine until I can't tell where I end and she begins
I lift her off the counter, her legs wrapping around my waist. She pulls at my shirt, fingers frantic. I slam her back against the wall, the impact making the frames rattle. I don't care. I open her shirt with shaking hands, slower than the panic wants. I need to see her. I need to see every inch of her, checking for wounds before I let myself want anything else. My hands are everywhere—marking her breasts, her ribs, the curve of her stomach.
"Alessio," she moans, her head falling back. "Please."
I stop long enough to see her eyes. “Tell me,” I rasp. “Stop or more?” I drop to my knees, fumbling with the button of her tactical pants. I jerk them down until she’s standing there, exposed and trembling in the dim light.
She’s perfect. She’s the only thing in this world that isn't broken.
I bury my face in her heat. The scent of her arousal hits me like a dropped anvil. She pulls me up her body, her mouth finding mine, and there is no mistaking that she has chosen this too. I lunge forward, my tongue finding her with frantic, rhythmic pressure.
She screams. The sound echoes through the room, a sharp note of surrender. She grips my hair, digging into my scalp as she arches her hips into my face.
"Yes," I growl against her skin. "Give it to me."
I’m relentless. I want to taste the proof that she’s alive and mine. I use my fingers to stretch her, feeling the tight walls of her center clench around me. She’s shaking now, her knees buckling. I stand up, catching her before she can fall, and toss her onto the bed.
I strip in seconds, only looking at her. I’m hard, my pulse throbbing in my cock. I move between her legs, forcing her thighs wide.
"Look at me, Amara."
She opens her eyes. They’re glazed with lust, her pupils blown wide.
“Tell me you want this.”
She doesn't answer with words. She reaches out and grabs me, pulling me toward her.
I reach for the condom on the nightstand—the doctor in me never entirely leaves—and only then do I sink into her.
The first inch is a struggle. She’s so tight, perfectly formed to take me. I groan, eyes closing as the heat consumes me. I push deeper, feeling the way her body yields and then clamps down. I bottom out, buried deep in her slickness.
"Fuck," I hiss.
I stay still for a moment, just breathing. I feel her internal muscles pulsing around me, milking me.
"Alessio," she whimpers, her hands moving to my ass, pulling me closer. "Move. Please, move."
I move.
I start slow, drawing out until I’m almost clear, then slamming back in. The friction is incredible. Every thrust sends a jolt through my spine. I’m a force of nature. I pick up thepace, my movements becoming primal. It isn’t only sex. It is fear leaving my body the only way I know how to survive it.
“Stay with me,” I growl. “Right here. Right now.
“Here,” she gasps. “I’m here.”
The confirmation is my undoing. I lose all control. I’m thrusting so hard the bed slams against the wall. I bite her shoulder, needing to leave a physical reminder of this.
